The Lost Hunter eBook

“The greater our duty,” exclaimed Faith,
clasping her hands, “to atone for the wrongs
we have inflicted. But, William, some good has
been done. Look at my dear, good Esther.”

“Esther deserves your praise, I am sure, because
you say it. But it is you that have made her
good. She could not be with you, without being
benefited.”

“You are very kind, but no merit attaches to
me. They were the precepts of Christianity that
softened her heart, though she was always gentle.”

“It was the sweetness of religion she heard
in your voice, its kindness she read in your eyes,
and its loveliness illustrated in your life, that
attracted and improved Esther”

“Were I to admit what you say, the credit would,
after all, belong to religion.”

The sun had nearly reached his meridian, as the young
couple approached the house of Mr. Armstrong.
What a change had been produced in a few hours!
The warm sunshine, while it glorified the landscape
had robbed it of its sparkling beauty. The trees
no longer wore their silver armor; the branches, relieved
of the unusual weight, had lost the graceful curves
and resumed their original positions; white blossoms
no longer bedecked the evergreens; and all around,
large drops were falling, as if lamenting the passing
away of the short-lived magnificence.

On parting from Bernard, at her father’s door,
Faith reminded him of his promise, and invited him
and Anne to tea with her in the evening. Bernard
accepted the invitation for himself, and conditionally
for his sister.

Bernard and his sister, on their arrival, found only
Mr. Armstrong and his daughter, but were joined, in
the course of the evening, by Pownal, at whose arrival
all expressed pleasure. The whole company united
with Miss Armstrong in requesting Bernard to read the
legend, who, at last, produced the manuscript from
his pocket.

“I must entreat your indulgence,” he said,
“for the defects of which the piece is full.
The author is an inexperienced writer, and unable,
like an accomplished hand, to atone by elegance of
style for improbability or poverty of incident.
You will expect no more than that he should observe
the proprieties of his subject, nor require him to
introduce into a tale of the children of Nature the
refinement of language or delicacy of sentiment, to
be met with in the modern romance. The stories
of an uncivilized people must be rude, even approaching
in simplicity tales designed for children.”

“The writer could not have an audience more
ready to be pleased,” said Mr. Armstrong; “and
are we not all children of various growths?”